Only Words
by DizzyDawn007
Summary: They were only words, and they did not affect her. It was madness anyway. Draco Malfoy and her? Sheer madness. Madness caused by drunken words, spoken sloppily.


Well, here I am again. Draco and Hermione will always be in my heart. Even so, this is a new kind of story, one I haven't really tried before. I mean, it's not extremely graphic or anything, but there are a few details. More than I've written before. So all in all, I'm a tad more nervous about putting this up than I normally would be. Please, please, please let me know how I did. Because I honestly don't have that much... experience, you could say, and I have to know what you good readers think of it. Love you all and thanks for reading!

Dizzy

* * *

They are only words, and shouldn't affect her so. What does she care what he thinks? But she finds herself unable to stop thinking about his words. Drunken words, spoken sloppily at a party one night after bumping into him.

_"I love your neck, Granger. No one ever sees it." He leaned in closer then, like he was telling her a secret. "I want to kiss you there." She needs air and leaves him, heading toward the exit. Why did she let Ginny drag her to this thing in the first place?_

But they do affect her. It's only a week later that he's at the monthly meeting for the Department of Research of Magic (he'd recently donated quite a bit to her department) and happens to sit three seats across from her on the right. Her hair, which hasn't been termed "bushy" for a while now, still gets in her face, and she's thinking about his words, wondering for the first time if he even remembers them. She cuts a quick glance to him, then to the rest of the room. It's not as if they know, but she is paranoid for a moment. Halfway through the meeting she looses her patience and twirls her long hair tight and knots it in the back of her head, making sure it stays in place by sticking her wand through. She quite suddenly notices how chilly her neck seems, and cannot bear to look at him for fear he remembers and thinks it has anything to do with him. Because, obviously, it doesn't.

After the meeting is over and almost everyone else has left, she is still getting her papers together and making notes she doesn't want to forget. She doesn't notice him until he's right next to her, and then he's the only thing she _can_ notice. Her neck feels cold again.

"I like your hair today, Granger. It's different." And then he leans in close again, and she can almost – almost – feel his hand on her neck, but not quite. She can barely feel her wand sliding out, but she definitely feels her hair on her neck again. He smirks at her before leaving the conference room. She is glad her hair gets in her face on her way back to her office because she would hate for anyone to see her slightly (only slightly) red face.

* * *

It is nearly a month later that she sees him, and she doesn't care at all. And the fact that her hair is up is totally irreverent, as well as the fact that she takes it down as soon as she sees him. Ginny has no idea what that's all about, because she spent nearly an hour trying to get it right for her, but whatever, you know? At least she's here. Which is more than she's conceded to in the last month, so what can be done? Hopefully she'll have a better time tonight than she did at the last party. She and Ginny are both hoping for it.

Half an hour later, she's stuck in a conversation with a drunken man she vaguely recognizes from school, but she cannot for the life of her remember his name. Then suddenly there's a third party to the two-person conversation they were having, and she realizes with horror that it's him, as soon as this old drunken schoolmate of hers starts asking why her hair is down now when it was up earlier? Why does she even bother to hope it'll be any different? These parties are always the same, especially since she doesn't drink at them. But before she knows it, he's looking at her interestedly and actually joining the conversation.

"Your hair was up earlier? Why'd you take it down?"

"My neck got cold. What's it matter anyway?"

"I was just wondering, Granger. It's okay. I'm sure Charles here didn't mean anything by it, did you mate?"

"No, not all at mate! Nothing! I'm drunk anyway." Charles, so that was it! Charles wanders off, presumably to bother some other sober person, if he can find another.

"So what about you, are you drunk off your ass as well tonight?"

"Not quite yet, Granger. Give me another hour or two."

"I won't be here that long, thanks."

"Oh, you're heading out then? Where are you going?"

"Probably home. Maybe I'll stop by the grocery first. Why?"

"Nothing! Why are you always so suspicious of me? What did I ever do to you?" At her incredulous look, he gives a little shrug and continues speaking, "Okay, besides that whole business at school… Maybe I'm a tad more drunk than I thought." He's wobbly on his feet and his fingers can't stay still when he tries to emphasize the "tad" part.

"You think?" She can't help the sarcasm – it seems to come naturally around him.

"You know what I think?" He leans in again, just like he did last time, like he's telling her a secret. She's not sure she wants to hear it. "I think your shoulders are sexy. I dream about your shoulders, Granger." Yes, she was right, she did not want to hear it. They are only words. Drunken words, spoken sloppily. They are only words, and they do not affect her. At all. She walks away to find Ginny, tell her she's leaving. Her neck is suddenly hot. This is, absolutely, the last party she'll be attending.

It's two whole weeks before she sees anyone from the wizarding world at all. Her father has finally gotten old enough that he actually takes some time off work to do other things, and she's just spent the last two weeks in France with her parents. She doesn't like to take off from work, but she's always felt a little guilty for all those breaks that she didn't spend at home. So now they take their own little breaks from the world. And even though clothes seemed so much more expensive there, she let her mother convince her to buy a few pieces. Just a shirt, a skirt, and a pair of pants. The real purchase of the trip for Hermione was the rare book she found. It doesn't have a title, and there are only two copies in French. All English versions of the book have been burned, as well as most other copies. Self-printed in the 18th century by an anonymous writer (she personally believed the book to be written by a woman), it was about the carnal thoughts of man and woman – what led to them? why is it so censured? – the type of thing that one hardly ever found. Practically giddy with the purchase even though it had cost a pretty penny, she stayed up the entire night to read it. And again, and again. It was captivating, fascinating, and made her think. Which, really, was the point of all reading, was it not?

At her favorite café she'd met with Ginny, who'd been shocked at Hermione's outfit for once. She'd even made her stand up and twirl about for her, right there on the sidewalk. It was the shirt and the pants she'd bought in France, inside a little store she always had to stop in when they passed. In Mora's, there were no two shirts alike, everything being made by the owner herself, an eccentric little woman who opened the small shop after her wealthy husband died. The shirt wasn't Hermione's usual style, but Mora had decreed it perfect for her, and left her with no choice but to buy it. It was a form-fitting white baseball tee, with odd silver doodles all over the shirt. The sleeves were plain black, with an odd cut at the hem, as if it wished to be part of a regency dress. She had liked it very much, until she'd put it on and realized how it was meant to fit a girl, to expose the shoulders much more than a regular baseball tee would have. Immediately reminded of Malfoy's words, words she'd worked so hard at forgetting, she'd been hesitant to get it. But Mora's word was law, and Hermione found herself wearing it with the tailored black pants to her lunch date with Ginny that Saturday. After all, Mora's clothing wasn't exactly cheap, and she would have felt guilty had she just thrown it in the back of her closet and tried not to think about it simply because it reminded her of Malfoy's words. Besides, was she one to change her mind because of anything Malfoy said or did? Definitely not. And she'd really been quite happy with it, until Ginny got that little glint in her eye. There's a party tonight, she said, a smaller one than most, she said, and you have just got to show off that shirt! You said you got a skirt, too? Just wear that instead of the pants, she said, it'll be perfect, she said.

Hermione sighed. It was far from perfect. Looking at it objectively, she could say she did look very good, very stylish, with her top and simple black skirt with silver threads and little wedges. But looking at it from her point of view, for herself, the shirt didn't cover enough skin, she felt weird in those little wedges –like she was walking funny, and the skirt came almost 5 inches above her knees, too much skin again. It just felt weird. And while it was nice getting so many compliments in one day, she felt as if she were constantly pulling the skirt down or putting her sleeves back up on her actual shoulder. How did people live like this? And hadn't she promised herself she'd be going to no more parties? What was with her resolution these days? She needed to find herself some better friends, that's what, friends who didn't drag her to parties she really didn't have fun at. Call her a nerd, she didn't care – these kind of parties just weren't her thing. Trying to disengage herself from the chaos that is a great party (in the mind of some) she finds a lovely alcove beneath the stairs, open to the hall with a small bench. There's even a small window, and she opens it to dim the smell of smoke and alcohol that seems to permeate the room. She doesn't have much hope. Not a minute after she sits, she finds someone sitting next to her. She knows it's him before she even looks. Not sure of when he showed up, because yes, she'd taken note of his absence when she arrived with Ginny, she decided it really didn't matter. What did matter was that he stop bothering her with all this nonsense. Just as she opens her mouth to speak, words come tumbling out of his.

"I like your shirt, Granger. You can see your shoulders. I dream about them."

"So you've told me once before. Look, Malfoy –" He cuts her off.

"Have I? I don't recall that. I haven't said your knees are pretty before, have I? I don't think I've ever seen you in a skirt that short." She swallows. She can't think. He sounds different tonight.

"I found a rare book while in France. Cost a fortune, but there's only four copies in the world, so that's okay. The book's amazing – I've already read it three times – " This time she stops herself. She's noticed his moving hand, and as she watches it come closer to her body, her words just seem to stop. His hand is now reaching across her, still not touching. It's just so close to her cheek that she can almost feel it, like a phantom touch, that trails down her throat, to her shoulder, down her arm, to her leg, and stops at her knee.

"What's the book about?" Her eyes dart to his, and she finds herself unable to look away. The book. Right.

"Carnal thoughts and the sexual awakening of a young woman in the 18th century. Fascinating." She sounds different to herself, and wonders why. Movement – his hand again distracts her, slowing skimming up her body - again with that phantom touch - until it comes to rest just under her chin. This time, he touches her, turning her head, bringing her face to face with him. It is at this precise moment that Ginny stumbles past, in the hall, and happens to spot her. Maybe it was the fresh air that made her turn her head – Hermione will never know.

"Oh my God! Hermione?!"

She can tell Ginny is totally drunk off her ass, and can only hope she doesn't remember this come morning. Or thinks she imagined it or something. Anything besides the truth. Quickly standing, she rushes out of the alcove, past Ginny and a dozen other people to get to the front door. What the hell was that? She doesn't know, but it's all she can think about. Her apartment is only a block away, and she decides she can use the fresh air. What the hell? It's only when she reaches her apartment that she realizes the most horrible thing of the night. The realization that keeps her up the entire night – why Malfoy sounded different. Why the whole thing was different. Because tonight, it wasn't just words, spoken drunkenly. Tonight he touched her, deliberately, and he didn't slur any of his words. He wasn't drunk, and that makes _everything_ different.

* * *

It's been more than a month since that night, and Ginny still can't remember what happened. Hermione's resolve is like steel, and she will not budge. She will not go to any more parties, and has barely been out to lunch. She works, and she spends time at home, with some shopping thrown in (after all, how can she coop herself up without new books?). But it's been more than a month since she's seen Draco Malfoy, and she hardly ever hears his name. This is probably due to her sudden social withdrawal, but who can be sure? She still doesn't know what to do about it, and thus has resolved to just ignore it entirely. How can she be expected to deal with that madness? And really, she hardly ever even thinks about it now. Honestly. It wasn't as if it was one of the most exhilarating experiences she'd ever had with a man. It wasn't as if she got flutters when he drew close. It wasn't as if – God forbid – she actually liked him. As already stated, though, she barely gave it a thought now.

She was working late again, and she wasn't thinking about Malfoy at all. Totally absorbed in her work as she was, Hermione missed the knock on her door that sounded quietly in the dead hallway. Missed the door slowly opening, slowly closing once a shadowy figure had snuck in. Missed the man standing in front of her desk for several seconds before that little alarm that goes off when someone stares at you went off and broke her attention. Upon looking up, she first jumped, then went completely still. This was not, absolutely not, happening! Where was the security in this place?

"Breathe Granger, it's only me." Good Lord, only him. Oh yes, of course, how could she have got bent out of shape about him suddenly appearing in her office after hours when she had worked so hard at avoiding him?!

"I don't know what you came here for, Malfoy, but I think it'd be a good idea for you to leave." Her voice left no option. Draco Malfoy, however, has been known to be obstinate at times (and quite stupid).

"Well, I came here because I figured it was better than showing up at your house. Figured you would take it better. And I came because I'm tired of you avoiding me. And don't try to say you haven't been, because I know for a fact that you have."

"Maybe there's a reason for that. If you know I am avoiding you, why in the world would you think it a good idea to show up unexpectedly in my office?"

"You were always the one with the good ideas, Granger, we all know that. But I saw this as my only option. You left me no others. I tried to let you get used to the idea." He started moving around the desk, closer to her. She flexed, but didn't move. She would not run in her own office! Especially from him. "I mean, hell – I pretended I was drunk just so you wouldn't completely freak out. And you still did! How's a man supposed to take that?"

"As a sign to go no further, maybe?!"

"Well, I took it to mean I had to try harder. I thought the words alone would work – you're so involved with your words – but they didn't, and I had to resort to other methods. And I almost had you, but then Ginny went stumbling by, the stupid wench, and you spooked. I get that. It's you and me, after all."

"Malfoy, there is no 'you and me'. You need to get that through your thick skull!" Her voice was shrill. What was his game? He couldn't be serious.

"Au contraire, my dear. There is indeed, a you and me. You just haven't admitted it yet." He was right in front of her now, and when he reached out his hand, she raised hers to block him away, so of course he took advantage of the situation and grabbed her hand. He swiftly pulled her up and out of her chair, her body coming flush against his. "You just need a little convincing. And I'm tired of just using words."

He still had her hand clasped in his, and his other hand was splayed across her back, holding her to him. Her free hand was folded between them, currently pushing against his chest. This was insanity! He was Draco Malfoy, and she was Hermione Granger, and this was her office! But then he leaned forward a bit, his lips almost grazing her earlobe. "Just relax, Hermione." He lightly trailed her jaw line with his lips, barely touching her. She stilled. He pulled away for a moment, just to look at her, and then his hand was pushing against her back harder and he was kissing her, and the hand on his chest that had been pushing his away now curled into the fabric and tried to drag him closer. The hand at her back was now moving up and down, under her shirt, and the hand that had been holding hers drifted up her arm and buried itself in her hair. His lips moved over hers, moved down, kissing, biting, sucking her exposed neck. He didn't think he'd ever get enough.

She moaned, barely above a whisper. But it drove him wild. His mouth still trailing her shoulders, his hands still buried in her hair and pulling her to him, he moved them, trying not to stumble across the small room to where her couch sat. She felt her knees give as they hit the edge of the couch, and thought for a second what she was doing, but then she was slouched on the couch with Draco's knee between her thighs and his mouth was once again kissing her, his hands doing wonderful things as one massaged her neck and the other traced her back and started working its way up her sides. Pinned, helpless to escape his mouth and hands that were now boldly feeling her curves, she sighed and let go. Arching up, her hands finally found their way under his button-up, feeling his muscles contract at her touch. She reveled in it and grew bolder, divesting him of his shirt entirely. Now she could see and touch. While he was in the process of removing her shirt, her hands were ghosting closer and closer to his waistline. And then they both stopped. Was that a noise? What was it? Was that a voice? Shit!

"Where'd you throw my shirt, Hermione?" His whisper was controlled and harsh, and she marveled that she could do this to him. "Over there." She nodded to the chair in front of her desk, where his shirt could be seen. He quickly pulled it on while Hermione stood up on shaky legs. Good Lord, maybe he was right after all. How disconcerting. Draco was back by her side within seconds, holding her close, hands at her waist, forehead resting against hers. He took in her disheveled hair, the shirt that was not quite straight, and the prim pants that shirt had been tucked into. He smirked.

"Maybe I should have shown up at your house." Hermione gasped, then covered her mouth, hearing a voice.

"Draco! Shame on you!" Her whisper held no condemnation, and even in the relatively dim light he could see her blush. His smirk only grew.

"Would you like to punish me?" Her cheeks only got redder.

"We are leaving now." She had to make an effort to control her voice. How could the man just say such things out in the open like that? The voice was moving closer now, and she finally recognized it. "It's my boss! Hurry, Apparate us!" She grabbed her wand and purse, and he held her tight to him. "My pleasure." She forgot to yell at his sly grin as the whirl of colors and the pull of Apparition distracted her somewhat.

She blinked, not knowing the room she now stood in. Draco took her wand and purse from her while she looked around. Hermione was sure she'd never been here before. The carpet was cream, there was a fire going, what appeared to be hot cocoa was sitting on a coffee table in front said fireplace with a settee, and when she turned around she saw the most beautiful four-poster bed draped with green linens and wispy cream-colored curtains. She was afraid to know the answer to her whispered question of, "Where are we?". His answer was simple, extremely so, but it still sent shivers down her spine.

"My bedroom."

* * *

Would it ever be enough? He doubted. She'd married him, taken his name, and now she was carrying his child. Would it ever be enough? Would he ever not want her so much as to the exclusion of everything else? He didn't think so. He hoped not. Sure, it had taken a while, longer than he'd expected, but she was worth the wait. She was worth everything. Hermione had finally come around to the idea of being in love with him, and then it was if the floodgates had opened. Draco doubted anyone had ever loved him so much as Hermione did now. And God, was he thankful for it. Hermione Malfoy might say Draco Malfoy practically became a stalker to get her to go on a date with him, but whatever. She was his now, and that's what really mattered. And the sex was fantastic.

Well?


End file.
